Man walks into a bar. Says to the bartender, “I want something tall, cold, and full of gin. Bartender looks back at him and says, “Leave my wife out of this!”

I’ll tell you: the books of John D. MacDonald never disappoint. Sure, they’re dark and cynical in their portrayal of life as lived by the suburban class in the late fifties / early sixties: the quiet desperation exemplified in Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?”, the sense of life moving too fast with the inevitable questions of whys and hows, afraid of what the answers might be. In MacDonald’s novels, his characters work too hard and drink too much behind a façade of nice homes, well-manicured lawns, and the struggle for identity and meaning in a post-war world where life is cheap and the struggle for finding some kind of existential meaning in life is both omnipresent and foreboding. I’m currently reading “Cancel All Our Vows” (the joke above is from that novel). It really is great stuff.

Holy crap, it looks more and more like there’s no way “Slo’ Joe” Biden is gonna make it into the primaries. Sure, it’s bad enough when Biden makes gaffes like Forty killed at Kent State – even the most clueless moron would have known it was only four, courtesy of Crosby Stills, Nash, and Young (heck, it’s in the friggin’ lyrics!). Keene, New Hampshire in Vermont? Admitting his public health care proposal would not be quality? And then at last night’s Democratic debate, bumbling and blustering his way through incoherent answers and disconnected thoughts including, of all things, record players. “Record players”? Hey Joe, how ’bout some Tang or Tab to wash those records down with?

…no wonder even that bastion of liberalism – Rolling Stone – says enough is enough. Liberals might detest Donald Trump, but there has to be an increasing sense that if it’s Biden, Trump will carve him up like a Sunday roast. Better, then, to pick a candidate who libs and progressives can rally around who’s not some senile, doddering swamp creature completely incapable of speaking intelligently on his feet.

Speaking of Delaware senators, while I admit to not having much in common with Biden’s permanent successor Chris Coons, he’s spot-on in saying that “Beto” O’Rourke’s bold statement about confiscating AK-47s and AR-15s at Thursday night’s Democratic debate is going to come back to haunt the Party – not just in 2020 but for years to come. Sure, Beto’s obvious pandering to anti-gun advocates might work in liberal bastions like California, Seattle, and Portland, Oregon, but national elections are won in swing states chock full of – you guessed it – law-abiding gun owners. If you didn’t catch the debate and hear O’Roarke’s actual words, don’t worry: they’ll replayed a thousand times over the next year in places like New Hampshire, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Minnesota long after Beto’s shelf life has expired.

…and after last night Beto can kiss any thoughts he might have had about challenging Texas senator John Cornyn adios. What a moron.

Still on a Bee Gees kick. So which version of “Come On Over” do you like better: the Bee Gees’, or Olivia Newton-John’s? Considering that ONJ’s rendition is one of my top-ten favorites of hers, I gotta go with that. But the gospel/country-flavored version by the Brothers Gibb isn’t bad at all, albeit a little plodding for my taste. After all, you can’t keep a good song down.

Just another example of why I happen to think transgenders are unstable individuals and wackos. Look – again — I could care less what you do in your own life or bedroom, but if your own perversions and sexual deviancies prevent you from acting in a civil manner to people, you need your friggin’ head examined. You folks are sick, and the sooner you admit you have a problem the better off we’ll all be.

So a new PGA TOUR season is upon us. Tried to watch a little of the inaugural Greenbrier event on Friday night but I have to admit I’m still feeling pretty burned out when it comes to golf. Just too mentally and physically drained. I do have to wash all that Massachusetts dirt left over from Goodboys weekend off my clubs and plan on doing that this weekend, but as far as playing goes I may take me a longer sabbatical than originally planned. Frankly, the idea of even hitting balls makes me want to barf.

I know it’s early, but you want to know my sleeper state to turn “red” in 2020? Connecticut. Laugh all you want, but remember you heard it here first.